Always Remember
by DaughterOfAres
Summary: A grizzly case brings back memories that Sharon Raydor would rather forget, but she's the only one who holds the key. All the while she and Rusty try to adjust to life without the Stroh case hanging over them.
1. Chapter 1: Memories

**This story is not going to be too terribly long. Probably only about 5 chapters. I promise, there will be lots and lots of Mothership feels even though Rusty isn't in this chapter. I've never written procedural type stories before, so bare with me, and let me know if something doesn't make sense. Thank you! **

**This story takes place right after season two before Rusty turns 18. **

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**Chapter 1: Memories**

**Wednesday Morning**

Sharon hadn't needed directions or even an address to find the latest murder scene she had been summoned to. Having lived in Los Angles most of her life, she was intimately familiar with the city. Probably more intimate with it then she was with her own husband. Checking her makeup one last time before stepping out of the car, she inwardly pushed that thought aside. Now was not the time or the place to think about Jack.

Closing the car door, she paused for the briefest of seconds looking at the outside of the dance school. Emily had come to this school years ago. It had been owned by someone else then and had been a ballet school instead of dance. The walls had been painted a horrible shade of pink then that she was happy to see had been replaced with a soft green. The same etching of a ballerina still covered the front window, and Sharon wondered it was the cost to replace it or appreciation of the art that caused the new owners to leave it there. Sharon's mind, without her consent, brought forth images of her young daughter waiting in front of the window, trying to peer in, eagerly anticipating her instructor coming to unlock the door.

She'd have to call Emily later.

With a carefully composed face and purposeful movements, she made her way to the door, ducking under the crime scene tape. While she put on gloves and protective shoe coverings, she gave her information to the officer at the door to be entered into the log. Only once proper procedure had been followed did she step inside.

"Ah, Captain!" Provenza greeted her, glancing down at her feet. "You might want to grab another pair of foot covers. It's a bit of a mess in there."

Sharon raised an eyebrow, but nodded her consent taking another pair of foot covers of the officer at the door. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Provenza bowed his head at her thanks.

"May I ask what makes this case a Major Crime, and why it was necessary for me to come out here?"

"You can ask, but…" Provenza paused glancing past the front desk and down the hallway. He shook his head. "I think, the answer will become very clear to you once you see the body."

That did not bode well. "I see. Fill me in."

"At 7 am this morning the owner of Dynamic Dance came in to turn on the air conditioning and get everything set up for the first class of the day, which was supposed to start at 9 am. She noticed the smell when she walked through the door and went to investigate. Shortly thereafter she discovered our victim, a dance teacher here by the name of Susan Caine, in the main dance studio, and immediately went outside to call the police. Sanchez already took her statement, and she's waiting outside with him if you'd like to talk to her, Captain, but I doubt she had anything to do with this."

They'd started walking down the hallway as Provenza filled her in, and now he stepped aside to allow her through the door of the studio.

Provenza was right. She was immediately able to see why this was a Major Crime. There was blood everywhere and lying in the middle of it was a completely naked young woman who had been cut open from just below her chest to just above her pubic area. Around the young woman, in her blood, which had pooled around her, were footprints. Hundreds of them. All had the same tread, and Sharon would have bet her pension that they belonged to the murderer.

Kendall was in the process of examining the victim as she and Provenza approached.

"What can you tell us? " Provenza asked immediately.

"I'd say she's been dead since sometime late last night. You'll have to wait for Morales to give you a more precise time. She's pretty beat up, so I can't say for certain if she died from loss of blood or something else. And," Kendall continued as he moved closer to the body turning her just slightly, so the detectives could see her back. "This was carved into her at some point."

Sharon Raydor had been to a lot of crime scenes in her career. And while this definitely ranked in the top 50 worst ones she'd ever seen, it was not the worst. Yet, as she looked at the words "Dance Whore" carved carefully into the dead girl's back, she felt her heart stop for a second, and her stomach rolled for the first time since she was a rookie on patrol. She just barely suppressed the shiver that tried to run down her spine the cause of which she'd have to examine later over a glass of wine.

"Did Buzz document that already?" she asked, grateful for an excuse to take her eyes off the young girl.

"Yep," Kendall replied, placing the body back down on the floor gently. "I'm just about done here, and should be out of your way in about 10 minutes."

"Thank you." Sharon turned away from the body and made her way towards Buzz who was filming the walls next to Flynn.

"Good morning," she said in way of greeting. She found it both sad and funny that police officers maintained the same social niceties while standing in the middle of a vicious crime scene as they did when gathered around a coffee pot. It was a necessary survival technique, she knew, and it brought a sense of order and mundane to the chaotic and messy.

"Good morning, Captain," Buzz replied never taking his eyes off his camera.

"Captain," Flynn smiled, and nodded his head in greeting. "We've been trying to figure out what this is about since we got here." Flynn gestured to the words scribbled haphazardly all over the walls and mirrors of the room in what she assumed was the victim's blood. "There's been a consensus that the words ring familiar to everyone, but no one seems to know what from. The order they're in doesn't seem to make any sense. Most likely it only means something to the whack job who did this, but it seems like a good idea to try and track down their origin anyway." Flynn shrugged. "Maybe we'll get lucky."

Before she could say "thank you," Mike was at her side.

"Morning, Captain," Tao began and didn't give her a change to return the greeting. "We found the murder weapon, assuming the murder weapon is a knife and she wasn't killed by a blow to the head or something like that. At the very least, we found the weapon used to slice her open, and it's covered with prints. We've also found prints and traces of hair in the artwork he left all over the walls for us in the blood he used. The blood, as I'm sure you've guessed, is most likely our victim's, but we'll have to wait for DNA results to be absolutely sure."

"Thank you." Sharon bowed her head in thanks to both Tao and Flynn before stepping away from them and standing more towards the middle of the room.

Flynn was right. There was something familiar about these fairly common words painted randomly onto the walls. She turned in a slow circle following the words with her eyes. They weren't just common words. There were names as well. Familiar names.

She continued turning in circles and reading the words trying to pull from her memory their collective meaning. _Remember. Rock. Change. Century. Radio. Jerry. Go. Lying. Energy. High. Bed. Lennon. Covers. Moulty. End. Roll. Need. You. Pulled._

She studied the footprints again, walking their path without disturbing them. The she walked them again. And again.

_Remember_.

"Captain," Lieutenant Provenza's voice drew her from a long forgotten memory. "I'm getting dizzy just watching you. Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"

Sharon's hands found their way into her pockets and she straightened as she noticed all her detectives watching her curiously. "I know what the words mean."

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**So...how's the hiatus treating y'all? There are free internet brownies to anyone who guesses what the words written on the wall are from! Let me know your thoughts! **


	2. Chapter 2: Explanations

**Wow, so, yeah, this chapter came about sooner than intended. I can't promise my next update will be this fast. Thank you for reading! And extra special thanks to all my reviewers! **

**Enjoy! **

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**Chapter 2: Explanations**

**Wednesday Afternoon**

Sharon stood in front of the Murder Board waiting as her team processed her explanation. Tao and Buzz were occasionally trading looks with each other, then staring at her once again. Julio wore a smirk she was doing her best to ignore, but if his eyes went to her legs one more time she might give into the temptation of throwing the dry erase marker she still held in her hand at him. She finally caught his eyes and raised an eyebrow. His smirk grew. Amy's eyebrows were drawn together as she stared at the Captain and her mouth was open slightly in the shape of an 'O'. Flynn wore a similar expression, but with his head tilted to his side, and thankfully with his mouth closed.

"Don't talk all at once, please." Sharon said dryly.

Provenza, the person seemingly the least affected by her revelation, spoke first. "I think, Captain, it would help if you explained to us how you came to this conclusion."

Sharon rubbed her thumbs against the tips of her fingers. She was hoping they wouldn't ask for the details. "I'm familiar with the song 'Rock 'n Roll Radio,' Lieutenant. I recognized the words as part of the lyrics even if they were out of order."

"And the footprints?" Provenza prodded. "How do you know the murderer _danced_ around the body? Perhaps he just panicked or performed some weird psychotic ritual?"

"I recognized the footing."

Provenza's eyes opened a bit more, and he leaned forward gesturing for her to go on.

She barely suppressed an eye roll. "I recognized the footing because I danced to that song three decades ago."

Julio raised his hand.

"Yes, Julio."

"Could you give us a demonstration, ma'am."

She should have known he'd ask that. She didn't take the time to glare at each member of her giggling team. They were worse than a room full of preteen ballerinas.

She really did need to call Emily tonight.

"Just so we can see the footing for ourselves, of course," Flynn added with a smirk of his own.

"Wait," Provenza began, standing and staring at the pictures of the bloody footprints. "Are you telling me that this whacko killed this girl, and then danced around the room in her blood, purposefully leaving footprints in such a way as to outline a dance, and in case we missed that, he put the lyrics to the song he danced to on the walls?"

Sharon nodded.

"Why not put the lyrics in order then, or put all the lyrics on the walls?" Flynn asked, stepping closer to the board. "I mean, if he wanted us to know what he did. then why not make it easier to recognize."

"The captain recognized it," Amy added to the conversation.

"We all thought it sounded familiar, Sykes. The Captain was just able to connect the dots before the rest of us," Tao said.

"The words are in order," Sharon cut in, moving over to point at the pictures of the walls. "They're in the order our murderer would have seen them as he danced to the song. Each word is the cue he would have used to turn towards the wall. Look."

Sharon moved her finger from picture to picture pointing at the words. "He would have started off facing this wall. At this word he'd have turned to face this one. Then with this word back to this wall."

"I don't know a lot about dance," Tao began, "but dancers don't usually use the words of a song to know when to turn. Do they?"

Sharon shook her head. "Not usually. Not good dancers, at least."

"So you don't think our psycho is a good dancer? Just what then? This girl's stalker?" Flynn questioned.

"I'll let you know, Lieutenant, once we catch him," Sharon answered honestly. "To do that we should start by trying to find out if anyone had been stalking or threatening her."

"There are no complaints filled with the LAPD," Julio answered, having gathered some basic background information on their victim already. "She is married. To an accountant named Alan Caine. I already called him. He's coming in once he gets off work in a few hours."

"Very good," Sharon said before turning her attention to Buzz. "Did the owner of the dance school have any security cameras?"

"Just one," Buzz replied. "Pointed directly at the front desk. You can't even see people coming in through the front door."

"Thank you, Buzz."

Provenza asked the next question before she could. "Sykes, did you find out anything about the owner of the dance studio? What was her name again?"

"Margret Sacks. She's squeaky clean. No record of any kind. And Susan Caine, our victim, was a fairly new instructor at the school. She'd only worked there about four months," Amy answered promptly.

"Captain Raydor?"

The unexpected and unknown voice made all the detectives look at the uniformed officer who'd just entered the Murder Room with a girl no more than eight at his side.

"Yes?" Sharon acknowledged him motioning for Buzz to lower the screen over the murder board. No child needed to see that.

"This young lady came to the front desk asking for you." The officer gestured to the young girl.

Sharon smiled at her. "I'm Captain Sharon Raydor. How can I help you?"

"My dance teacher asked me to give this to you." The little girl, dressed in a school uniform with a blue bow in her hair, held out a slim perfectly square white envelope at once recognizable as a CD sleeve. Sharon didn't know how, but she _knew_ that the contents of that envelope where from the killer.

"Thank you," Sharon replied, taking the CD from the girl carefully. "What's your name?"

"Cassidy," the little girl answered. "Are you going to call my mommy now to come pick me up?"

Sharon continued to smile at the little girl even as Tao's gloved hand carefully took the CD from her. It was good to know she wasn't the only one suspicious of the disk's sudden appearance, or its method of delivery. She turned her attention to the officer who came up with the girl. "Thank you. We can take care of things from here."

The front desk officer nodded and left, giving the small girl a friendly smile as he walked away.

Sharon turned her attention to the girl in front of her. "Cassidy, Detective Sykes is going to go with you to call your mother. While we wait for her to come, can you tell Detective Sykes everything your dance teacher said when he asked you to give me that?"

Cassidy nodded. "You're going to call my mommy first though, right?"

"Yep," Sykes answered, smiling and offering her hand to the little girl.

"Use my conference room, Amy."

Amy nodded in understanding, walking with the young girl to the conference room. Once they were both inside and the door closed, the Captain turned to Tao.

"Okay, Mike, let's see what's on that disk," Sharon said, and then noticed all her detectives gathered around his desk already. She walked over to join them.

She heard the music first and almost didn't need to see what was playing across Mike's computer screen. Somehow she already knew. Looking over Provenza's shoulder she sighed, they were never going to let her live this down, "Well, Julio, is that an adequate enough demonstration for you?"

* * *

**Wednesday Night**

"I am well aware of that, yes." Sharon said, smiling into her phone. She was going through a box she'd pulled from the top of her closest, surprised she'd even kept it, while talking to her daughter. Rusty was doing his homework at the table.

"Okay. Love you, too." She took the phone away from her ear and held it in Rusty's general direction. "Emily wants to talk to you, again."

She heard Rusty get up from the table, walk over, and take the phone from her. He leaned forward over the back of the couch peering into the box she was going though.

"Yeah, I know." She heard him say to her daughter, and could easily guess what they were talking about. "Goodnight. Talk to you later."

Rusty hung up the phone, and dropped it beside her on the couch, but didn't move from his spot. "What's that?"

"These are recorded tapes of me from almost thirty years ago." She answered, distractedly.

"They had cameras back then?"

Playfully, she hit him with one of the throw pillows from the couch. "Watch it."

Rusty laughed, and she tried not to smile in response. When he climbed over the back of the couch to sit beside her all she could do was roll her eyes. Teenagers.

"What's on the tapes?" Rusty asked, peering curiously into the box.

"Different things," she answered, picking one up, "this one is of mine and Jack's wedding." She returned it back to the box without thinking about it too much, and picked up another neatly labeled one. "This one is Emily's first ballet recital."

"Why are you going through them now?"

"Rusty," she started, and paused briefly considering how to continue. "I'm very well aware that you heard some of my conversation with Emily, and that the two of you think I'm overreacting."

Rusty shrugged, "you sounded really worried about Emily on the phone."

"And when a case reminds me of Ricky I worry a little more about him. Just like when a case reminds me of you I worry a little more about you as well." She continued searching through the box looking for something specific, "As a mother, I'm entitled to worry about my children even if that extra worry is a little unnecessary."

"Oh."

Sharon smiled a little, "Now, that we have that settled, if you don't mind, to make _me_ feel better, would you stop by the station after school tomorrow?"

Rusty rolled his eyes, and dramatically fell back against the couch, whining. "Sharon…"

She didn't say anything in response, just continued searching through the old video recordings.

"Fine. I'll come by the station tomorrow." Rusty pouted, but gave in for reasons he didn't quit understand. He had no idea how she managed to make him feel horrible about things without saying a word. Things he hadn't actually _done _even. Only considered. It was completely unfair.

"Thank you, Rusty. I'm sure you had better plans than stopping by the station, but I'm sure everyone will be happy to see you. Maybe Buzz can even help you with your homework. And _I _very much appreciate the effort."

Sharon's tone was nothing other than…_sincere_ and _grateful_. Emily had warned him that Sharon would use this tone on him. She hadn't told him how to resist it, however.

"Yeah, you're welcome. What are you looking for, anyway?" Rusty gestured towards the box.

Sharon debated on how much to tell him. Rusty knew some of the horrific things that came through the Murder Room. After all he'd spent the better part of a year and a half there. As horrible as those cases and murders were though it was always "someone else". It was distant, people he didn't know, and only on a few occasions could he actually relate to them. He didn't need to worry about another Philip Stroh. He didn't need to know that someone had recorded her dancing 30 years ago and hung on to the tapes.

"The case we're working on reminded me of when I used to dance, and I couldn't remember if I'd kept any of my recordings."

"You used to dance?"

Sharon nodded making a confirming noise without actually opening her mouth. "Not professionally. It was more like exercise, a hobby."

"You recorded yourself exercising?"

She smiled making a small noise of amusement. "Well, we did have routines that we would work on. Sometimes we would find it beneficial to record ourselves to see where we needed improvement. Normally, we didn't keep the tapes, just record over them, but there's a possibility I may have kept one."

"Oh." Rusty watched her searching through the tapes quietly for a moment, his brow creasing in confusion. "Sharon, how do you plan on watching whatever is on those things? They don't look like they'll fit in the DVD player."

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**The song lyrics were from The Ramones, Rock 'n Roll Radio. **

**Did this explain a few things? And cause even more questions? I hope so. :D**

**Tell me all your thoughts on the first Mothership scene of this story? **


	3. Chapter 3: Recognition

**What can I say about this chapter...I tried to keep it slightly humorous? **

**Thank you to all my reviewers! I hope this chapter meets your expectations.**

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**Chapter 3: Recognition**

**Thursday Morning**

Sharon thought her morning was going well under the circumstances. Rusty hadn't needed to be pulled out of bed. (He had a tendency to turn his alarm clock off and go back to bed occasionally.) When she reminded him that he had agreed to stop by the station after school, he had only rolled his eyes once before saying that he remembered. Their simple breakfast of cereal had been eaten in a comfortable, if not sleepy, silence before they parted ways for school and work. Traffic on the way to work had been wonderfully uncongested, allowing her to be there a good ten minutes before she usually arrived.

In retrospect, she should have seen that as an omen of the things to come.

Her team was already in the Murder Room going over the case when she walked in. Saying her usual good morning and promising to join them as soon as she put her things away, she continued to her office. Maybe if she'd actually stopped to say good morning, things would have gone differently. Maybe she would have noticed the not-so-subtle way that Mike kept his head down, but watched her out of the corner of his eye. Or the way that Flynn smiled and openly watched her walk. Perhaps she would have noticed that Provenza lowered his crossword puzzle as she walked closer and closer to her door. Or the way Amy didn't smile and greet her warmly, but merely stared down at her desk. And just maybe she'd have noticed how Julio turned away so she wouldn't see his laugh as she walked by him.

Instead, she spoke to them over her shoulder as she made her way to her office, turning towards it fully only when her hand was on the doorknob.

She couldn't say she was surprised at what she saw there. Police officers were known to do their fair share of hazing and teasing. She was actually rather proud of how she'd made her way through her team's hazing efforts years ago. Her first true success, in her team's eyes anyway, being when she took down a suspect-with a beanbag gun—right between his eyes. As she stood staring at her door for a moment, she remembered that commanding officer or not she was not completely untouchable as far as teasing went.

Stuck to her door were several stills from the video of her dancing that had been delivered yesterday. The photos had been enhanced and cropped, and as she studied them for a moment she wished longingly for the body she'd had in her twenties before babies and age had taken their toll.

She stood there looking at them for only a brief moment. Only a few seconds, before she turned the doorknob and walked into her office.

As promised, she put her things away and returned to the Murder Room, purposefully ignoring the pictures. They would have to come down eventually, of course, but for now they weren't hurting anyone.

"Anything new, Lieutenant?" she asked, purposefully sitting on the corner of Provenza's desk facing the Murder Board. She ignored his glare and pointed looks.

It was Mike who answered instead of Provenza. "The autopsy results are back. She'd been sexually assaulted before she was killed, and she was pregnant."

Sharon's head silently snapped towards him at that. Like every member of her team, she had a soft spot when it came to children. She assumed that all people, police officers or not, had that same soft spot. "How far along was she?"

Mike looked through the autopsy report quickly. "Eight weeks."

"What about the husband?"

Provenza answered this time, still glaring at her for sitting on his desk. "He tried to report her missing when she didn't come home Tuesday night, but, of course, since she was an adult and there were no extenuating circumstances…" He trailed off with a sad shrug. "We did get a DNA sample from him and are waiting to hear if he really is the father of our victim's baby."

Sharon nodded her head. "Since she was sexually assaulted, were we able to get any DNA?"

Mike answered again. "Yes, two samples actually. One is a bit older than the other, and Dr. Morales says it's the husband's. We're running the other sample through the database now, but that could take days. It would go faster—"

"If we had something to compare it to, I know," Sharon finished for him. "What about the DVD that was delivered yesterday?"

Flynn decided it was his turn to join the conversation. "Nothing there either. It was obviously transferred from an old cassette tape to a DVD, but it doesn't look professional."

Buzz piped up from his corner of the Murder Room. "It's not hard to copy a cassette to a DVD. Especially with the right equipment. Even Lieutenant Provenza could do it."

There were several badly concealed chuckles at that quip as Provenza mumbled under his breath.

"Any idea on how our killer got that tape, ma'am?" Julio asked with a smirk. He was enjoying this far too much.

She shrugged, having already told them about how she used to, as Rusty put it, 'record herself exercising.' "Not really. I never thought too much about those tapes. I know there aren't many of them. I didn't even keep one."

"The prints on the disk match those at the crime scene," Andy added before his voice became more somber. "Whoever killed this girl sent you that disk, Sharon. That's not a good sign."

"I'm aware of that, yes. But that video was from thirty years ago. Before my children were born. When I was still a rookie on patrol. It's hardly a fresh memory."

"I just got a hit from VICAP," Julio announced. "Apparently, there was a murder like this one fifteen years ago."

"How much like this one?" Provenza asked, as everyone gave Julio their full attention.

"Victim was approximately the same age, a theater dancer, ten weeks pregnant, sexually assaulted before she was killed. She had the same words carved into her back, and the crime scene looks nearly identical." Julio turned his computer screen so she could see the pictures.

She knew the dance that went with those lyrics, too.

Finally, standing up from her place on Provenza's desk, she moved closer to Julio's computer screen, studying the pictures. Specifically the one of the words carved into the woman's back.

Those two words seemed _familiar_. Like at the crime scene, she forced herself to repress the shudder that wanted badly to travel down her spine.

Julio interrupted her thoughts. "VICAP doesn't mention anything about a disk being delivered showing a room full of dancing women."

"Anything on the dance teacher that gave the girl the disk?" she asked, glaring at Julio.

"His name," Amy replied, "is Ron Hays, according to Cassidy's mother. He owns a dance school, too. Yesterday, he canceled all his classes for the next two weeks. Which is how he got Cassidy to deliver the disk. Her father dropped her off early for practice. She was the first one there before Hays put the note up canceling class. Hay's offered to take her home so she didn't have to wait on her mother to pick her up. He brought her to the police station instead and asked her to play messenger."

"But," Mike added getting up to pin the DMV's picture of their suspect on the board, "Ron Hays doesn't appear to be his real name. The real Ron Hays died when he was three weeks old twenty-five years ago and suddenly appeared in L.A. fifteen years ago."

Sharon took a step towards the board to get a better look at the picture. She studied it carefully before her eyes widened. Spinning around on her heel to inform her team of their suspect's real name, however, was a mistake.

She felt, before she heard, the heel of her shoe snap and only barely managed to catch herself on Provenza's desk. There was initial movement from her team to make sure she was okay, but that soon led to badly concealed chuckles once they'd established that the only thing injured was her pride. And her shoe. Her favorite, most comfortable, pair of heels to be exact.

She bent over to retrieve the broken heel and remove her shoes. She always kept a pair of black flats in her office, so, at least, she wouldn't have to walk around barefoot all day. Straightening, she held her shoes in one hand and the broken heel in the other, and continued where she left off as though she hadn't just fallen off her shoes.

"It might be a good idea to run the name Evan Daniels." She sighed. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to change shoes then remove myself from this case."

* * *

**Thursday Afternoon**

For the first time in her life Sharon Raydor was happy to be sent home early.

Granted, she hadn't been sent home early often- there was that one time in middle school- and it had never happened in her professional career, and she hadn't exactly been ordered to go home this time. However, when she went to Assistant Chief Taylor to inform him of why she was excusing herself from the case, he had suggested that she take the rest of the day off and she willing went. In fact, she nearly ran out of the building. Considering how her luck was going, however, she decided that a better course of action would be to walk. Slowly.

And to drive even more carefully than normal. Which wasn't too hard to do considering that traffic was so backed up she never drove more than five or ten feet at a time.

It was a little past one in the afternoon when she finally stepped into her condo. She was about to sigh in relief at finally being home, and having a few hours to herself before Rusty arrived, when she noticed a familiar blonde head peeking at her with wide eyes from over the couch.

"Rusty?" She was instantly concerned at seeing him on her couch watching TV when he should have been at school. "Are you all right? Are you sick? Why didn't you call me?"

She closed the distance between them and stood behind the couch while she placed a hand on his forehead. He didn't feel warm.

"What happened?" she asked, still concerned. She smoothed his hair back down.

Rusty squirmed a bit on the couch, moving away from her towards the armrest. When he finally looked up at her, his eyes told her that whatever he was about to say was going to be a lie.

"I wasn't feeling well, so I came home early." He looked away from her the second the words were out of his mouth.

"Did you go see the school nurse?"

Rusty shook his head.

Sharon considered questioning him further, but he'd obviously had some time to think about this, and she was tired. It had been a long morning for a number of reasons. None of which was Rusty's fault. She wasn't in the mood to let him tell her lie after lie, digging himself deeper and deeper, until he had no choice but to tell her the truth. Besides, if St. Joe's had sent him home early, or if he was absent, they were required to call her. She'd been very clear on that when she'd enrolled him. If they hadn't done that, then she needed to have talk with the principal.

Moving away from the couch, she went to the phone. Picking it up from its stand, she dialed the school's number from memory.

Rusty sat up, his wide eyes following her. "What are doing?"

"Making a phone call."

Rusty rolled his eyes. "Obviously, I can see that, Sharon. Who are you calling?"

She held up a finger to silence him, as someone answered her call. "Yes, I'm Sharon Raydor, I was wondering-"

The person on the other end cut her off mid sentence, and she turned to watch Rusty as the woman spoke.

"…_just about to call you. It's been a little crazy here today, and I'm running a little behind. Your son…"_

Sharon didn't bother correcting the woman. She never corrected anyone about that mistake these days.

Sharon kept her face impassive as she listened to the woman on the other end of the line. Rusty fidgeted and squirmed under her gaze until he decided something and attempted to watch TV again.

Once the conversation finished, Sharon replaced the receiver on its charger and moved to stand next to him on the couch. She waited for an explanation.

Rusty watched TV, pointedly ignoring her.

"Would you like to tell me your side of the story?"

Rusty shrugged and turned up the volume on the TV.

She took the remote from him and turned off the TV, crossing her arms.

"Hey! I was watching that!"

"Not anymore. Now, would you care to explain what happened?"

"Nothing happened."

"You just heard me on the phone with St. Joe's, Rusty."

"I'm suspended until Monday. Happy?" Rusty snapped at her, and though his tone and words said one thing, his body language said another. Sharon watched him curl up into himself wrapping his arms around his legs while pushing into the couch.

Sharon couldn't make sense of his reactions. He hadn't behaved this way since their first few months together. They'd come a long ways since then, she thought. When she spoke, she kept her tone low and slow, uncrossing her arms to appear less angry. "I would very much like to hear your side of the story, Rusty."

Rusty shrugged.

She waited.

"You already know what happened. What's the point of me telling you again?" Rusty asked, finally.

"So I can hear your version of what happened. Why you thought that doing that was a good idea," she answered honestly, repeating what she said earlier.

Rusty rolled his eyes.

Sharon continued to watch him sadly. She really had thought that by now he trusted her. She thought that having the preliminary part of Stroh's trial over and done with that he'd be able to relax. They could both relax. That he would know he could trust her. Maybe sending him away to stay with Provenza for the whole week before the trial had done more harm then she'd thought.

There was nothing she could do about that now, and looking back (aside from keeping him out of that insane operation to begin with) she wasn't sure what she could have done differently. She sighed and looked away from him for a moment, coming to a decision.

"Go get your laptop and cellphone," she instructed firmly, mentally bracing herself for the explosion.

"What?! Why?!" Rusty demanded, sitting up on the couch, completely outraged at her words.

"Now, please."

Rusty glared at her for a minute and she was reminded of his first week with her when he'd been so very angry and untrusting.

She kept her expression impassive, but unyielding.

He kicked her coffee table as he stood up. And her couch. Then continued storming down the hall to his room. She remained standing in the living room hoping that she was doing the right thing.

It took him ten minutes to come back with the two items she'd requested. In that time, she'd disconnected the cable box and had it sitting on her abused coffee table. When Rusty did return clutching his phone in one hand and his laptop to his chest, she held out her hands.

"You can't take my things from me," Rusty said, glaring.

Sharon replied, the same way she had the first time he said those words to her. The same way she'd replied to her two oldest when they'd said those words to her. "They're not your things. They're my things, and you can only keep them while making mature decisions."

"That's not fair."

"This isn't up for discussion, young man."

He glared at her for a moment longer before depositing the items-with more force than was strictly necessary-into her arms.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, collecting the cable box as well. "You should consider yourself grounded."

"For how long?" Rusty grumbled.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On what you say when you're ready to sit down and talk to me maturely without kicking things and slamming doors."

Rusty opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

"For now, let's say we'll reevaluate the situation Sunday evening, which should give you plenty of time to think about your behavior."

Rusty opened and closed his mouth a few times, but eventually decided that the best course of action would be to walk away. Which he did without kicking, stomping, or slamming his bedroom door. Sharon considered that an improvement. With that thought in mind, she took all of Rusty's favorite electronics to her bedroom.

* * *

**Tell me all your thoughts on how Sharon handled things with Rusty. Please? I have internet cookies for you...they're the best kind of cookies, you know. **


	4. Chapter 4: Susceptibility

**The plan was for this chapter to be about more than just Sharon and Rusty. However, the length started to get away from me. Therefore, I decided to cut this chapter in half. This is the first half...obviously. The second half will, hopefully, be up next week. **

* * *

**Chapter 4: Susceptibility**

**Friday Morning**

Sharon's luck on Friday did not improve. It started with waking up an hour before her alarm went off to find herself soaked in sweat. After a few seconds of panic during which she reassured herself that _that _part of her life was thankfully over, she got out of bed to find the cause of this perceived hot flash. Further investigation revealed that some _minor_ electrical work on the building the previous day had resulted in a _minor_ electrical malfunction that required power to the entire building to be cut for several hours while it was repaired.

Without warning.

Deciding a cold shower was better than no shower at all, she stepped under the running water and realized just as the water cascaded over her head that no power meant no hair dryer. Once dressed, she took her makeup and a small mirror out onto the balcony where there was plenty of light. Which is where Rusty found her applying her lipstick.

"Why is it so hot?" he asked, stepping through the open glass doors.

"Because the power is out," she replied, packing up her makeup.

"Oh," Rusty replied sleepily.

"I don't know for how much longer. Hopefully, it'll be back on before everything in the refrigerator goes bad." She would be sending the building owners a bill if that happened even if it wasn't directly their fault. Even if they had no obligation to compensate her for the lost food. She'd send them the damn bill just to make herself feel better. "Would you like to come to the station and study?"

"Is that my only choice?"

"You're welcome to stay here," she replied, walking past him, back into the condo, and down the hall to the bathroom to put her makeup away.

He followed her whining, "What am I supposed to do at the station all day?"

"The same thing you'd be doing here all day: studying and doing school work." She glanced at her hair in the bathroom mirror. In the limited light it didn't look too horrible, but it was still mostly wet, hanging in stringy pieces around her face while the wet ends damped her lavender dress. Hopefully, it would be dry by the time she got to work, and her beige blazer would cover up the water stains on her shoulders until the dress dried.

"Sharon…" Rusty continued whining, leaning up against the bathroom doorframe. "It's not like I have school—"

Rusty cut himself off as he realized what he'd said, and she almost smiled at the wide eyed look he gave her. As though she could forget he was suspended for two days.

"We'll get something for breakfast on the way to the station," she said decisively. "Now, get dressed."

She shooed him off to his room with a wave of her hand, and he went with dragging feet and long suffering sighs.

* * *

**Late Friday Morning**

Sharon massaged her temples and glanced at the closed blinds of her office. Normally, she'd keep them open, but the temptation to check in on her team and the case was too strong.

Almost as strong as the desire to duct tape Rusty's mouth closed.

Sharon had learned an extraordinary amount of patience in her life. Not only through raising two children primarily on her own, but also through her work in Internal Affairs. She knew how to be patient with people who drove her crazy. She also realized that doing so was a thankless job most of the time. However, all that practice didn't mean that upon occasion she didn't find her patience sorely tested.

And her youngest child was doing a marvelous job at testing it, today.

Since he'd woken up this morning, Rusty just couldn't seem to control his tongue. He had complained and whined about everything, from the condo not having power to the injustice at not having a laptop _or _cellphone to her refusal to let him drive. Of course, she'd made things worse on herself by insisting he study in her office, but she was determined to keep him from finding out anything about this case. She wasn't even doing a very good job at that, because she'd forgotten about the pictures of herself from thirty years ago plastered all over her office door.

She had patiently redirected that conversation.

"Where are you going?" she asked, somehow managing not to sound accusing, as Rusty started walking towards the door.

"Oh my God, Sharon. Can't I go to the bathroom without giving you a detailed itinerary?" Rusty shot accusingly.

Sharon's face showed concern. "Do you have an upset stomach?"

She could tell the question caught him by surprise, but that didn't stop his sharp reply. "No! Seriously, Sharon!"

"I'm only asking because this is the sixth time you've gone in the last hour, and if you're not feeling well, I'd like to know," Sharon answered, genuinely concerned even though she was sure that he was perfectly healthy. Her other children had tried this routine on her from time to time. She'd learned that merely pointing out that she knew what they were doing only backfired, and lead to yelling and tears.

When Rusty blushed slightly Sharon wondered if it was from the shame of being caught or guilt at snapping at her for being concerned.

"I'm fine." Rusty mumbled staring at the floor of her office.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Yes. I'm _fine_."

"Okay." Sharron nodded, hopefully the fact that he hadn't rolled his eyes at her meant that he was coming around, and soon her nice sweet teenager would return to his normal bratty self. "When you come back, I'd like to see the progress you've made on your schoolwork since this morning."

Rusty rolled his eyes before walking out the door. "Whatever."

Sharon smiled tightly as he left. Normally, she trusted him to be in charge of his own homework. He was certainly old enough to do it unsupervised and without her hovering. The flat out tantrum he'd thrown earlier though when she'd informed him that he would be sitting in her office working on school related things until they went home caused her to be concerned about his ability to manage his time appropriately.

And he had thrown a tantrum. With all the screaming he'd done she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd thrown himself down on the ground and started kicking and hitting the floor. It was not his normal behavior, and she wondered if she should call Doctor Joe and mention the incident to him.

Getting suspended from school was not normal behavior for him either. Ricky had been suspended from school for an extended weekend once. Her _darling_ High Schooler had wanted to test his abilities with computers and during computer class one day he'd gotten so bored that he'd somehow (he had explained how but it went over her head) caused all the computer screens in the classroom to display psychedelic spinning colors for about a minute. No harm was done, and the school had been rather lenient about it, but she'd been shocked and appalled. Not to mention proud. Very proud. What fourteen year old had those skills? She had, of course, given him a list of restrictions for that stunt, not unlike the ones she'd presented Rusty with. The following summer, however, she'd made sure to enroll him in a computer camp where they encouraged the kids to do that sort of thing…in a controlled environment. Not school computer labs.

Rusty, however, hadn't been suspended for anything she could be even distantly proud of. In fact, it scared her a little. She had worked very hard to convince him that he was more than a street hustler. That he could achieve more given the opportunity. And she'd given him the opportunity. Until now, she'd thought he –as much as any teenager could anyway –understood that. That he was taking advantage of those opportunities and changing his life for the better. That he wasn't a criminal, and he understood that. She and he both knew that the activities he engaged in in Griffith Park were not legal, but he'd done what he had to in order to survive. He'd never done drugs. He'd never assaulted or hurt anyone. He'd kept his illicit activities to things that only hurt himself.

The thought broke her heart.

All of his illegal activities had ended the night Stroh attacked him. He'd never wanted to do anything illegal in the first place. He'd taken full advantage of everything Brenda Leigh Johnson offered him. Which was shocking considering the reluctance with which he'd taken the things she'd offered him. Oh, he'd taken the food and clothes, without argument, but the good school and even the bedroom he'd been much more reluctant to take. Then again, she hadn't given those things to him as a bribe, or used some sickly sweet voice on him in a bad attempt to make him feel mommy'ed. Brenda Leigh Johnson may have been CIA trained, but apparently the CIA didn't teach you how to deal with teenagers.

Sharron shook her head slightly to refocus. Reminiscing would not help the current situation.

Before she could think of a way to help her current predicament with Rusty he returned from his sixth restroom break and took his seat at the small table in her office. She stood up, and went to stand beside him.

"Let's see what you've done so far." She was careful to keep her tone un-accusing, and even sounded generally interested in what he was doing. Hopefully, if he thought she was just bored –which wasn't far from the truth since there was a case going on in her murder room that she wasn't allowed to be a part of –he would go along with her question in an attempt to keep both of them entertained.

Rusty shrugged, and picked up his pencil to return to doodling.

Doodling.

She glanced at the papers strewn about the table. They were all doodles, and random words written in different types of handwriting. Sharon inwardly sighed. He was doing this on purpose, of that she was sure, but she had no idea why. She pulled one of the table chairs closer to him and sat down slowly beside. Crossing her arms she stared at him trying to think of what to say.

Rusty squirmed under her gaze. His eyes were quickly shooting towards her every so often before returning to his artwork.

"Rusty," she paused briefly, and blinked a couple of times. She could feel the skin around her eyes shift as she adopted a disappointed expression. "Please, tell me, what's going on."

Given his recent behavior she wasn't surprised as his response.

"NOTHING!" Rusty shouted, and the look of shock that flashed across his face told her that even he was surprised at the outburst. The shock only lasted for a second before being replaced by anger; he was committed to being angry now. He had to follow through with it. "I don't want to do homework all day! And this is completely unfair! You can't tell me what to do!"

"Rusty-"

"No!" he screamed at her, cutting her off. "I'm not going to sit around doing homework all weekend!"

Sharon watched, as he waited for her reaction. She thought carefully and quickly about what reaction that should be. She knew he was lashing out at her about something, but he wasn't ready to talk to her yet. She wasn't going to let him behave like a toddler while standing in the middle of her office until he was ready to tell her either.

"Okay, Rusty," she said calmly, remaining seated. "Let me be very clear, you have three options right, now. You can sit down and talk to me calmly and maturely about what's bothering you." She paused very briefly to see if he'd even consider this option. "You can sit down and work on your _schoolwork_ not your ability to draw geometric shapes." She paused, again to give him a pointed look complete with raised eyebrows. "Or, you can stand in the corner and reflect on why you're so angry lately, and the best course of action for you to take next, under these circumstances."

* * *

She looked up at hearing the knock on her door and didn't have the opportunity to invite the person in before the door opened. She smiled casually as Buzz paused inside her door, his eyes lingering on the corner of her office for a moment.

"Is there something I can do for you, Buzz?" she asked in an attempt to refocus him.

"Uhh…yeah, yes," His eyes darted questioningly from her to the corner of the office.

She ignored Buzz's looks. "And what would that be?"

"Chief Taylor is in Electronics and wants to see you." Buzz finally stopped looking at the corner and focused on her.

"I'll be there in a moment, thank you."

"You're welcome," Buzz replied and glanced quickly away from her one more time before stepping out of the office and closing the door behind him.

"Okay, Rusty," she said, turning in her chair to face him. He turned around from his spot in the corner. His cheeks were red with embarrassment. "Why don't you sit down and work on your schoolwork now. We'll talk when I get back."

She was rather surprised when Rusty simply walked to the table and sat down. Apparently, five minutes of standing in a corner like a child did some good after all. She'd been more than a little surprised when Rusty hadn't agreed to work on his schoolwork when presented the option. Instead he'd started yelling about how completely unfair she was being. She'd let him rant for several minutes. Once he'd finished, she'd merely pointed to the empty corner of the room. Rusty then proceeded to enlighten her on all the ways that was unfair, and how she couldn't make him stand in the corner 'like a toddler.' She had silently continued to point at the corner. Eventually, he'd placed himself there, and after five long minutes he seemed ready to do his schoolwork.

It was like he was testing her all over again, and she had no idea why. Nor did she have time to think about it at the moment. Standing from her desk, she walked out of her office and closed the door softly behind her.

* * *

**Oh, Rusty...**

**And Sharon for that matter...talk about a bad hair day. **

**Let me know all your thoughts. I like thoughts. I'll even trade cookies for thoughts. **


	5. Chapter 5: Susceptibility, Part Two

**Sorry this took so long folks. My computer was sick and it had to be air-lifted to the ER. (AKA it broke and I had to send it back to the company who paid for it to be shipped via airmail.) Only one chapter left after this!**

**A very special thanks to LadyLanera who helped me with the interview. I could not have written this without her help. **

* * *

**Chapter 5:** S**usceptibility, Part Two**

**Friday Afternoon**

Sharon pushed all thoughts of Rusty aside as she opened the door to Electronics. Taylor was in there along with Tao and Buzz, all of them focused intently on the monitors. None of them looked up when she came in and closed the door behind her.

"Is there something I can help you with, Chief?" Sharon asked, trying not to sound too eager. Sitting in her office while her team worked a case without her, especially one that involved her, was not an easy task.

"Well, Captain," Taylor began before looking up at her. He paused with his mouth hanging open and looked over the rim of his glasses. "What happened to you?"

She blinked unsure what he meant and tilted her head slightly to ask him to explain. As she did so, a piece of frizzy, flat, lifeless hair fell in front of her eyes.

Oh. Right.

She'd almost forgotten about her hair. She pushed the strand out of her eyes as she smiled tightly and gritted her teeth.

Taylor, realizing his error, recovered quickly and cleared his throat before he changed the subject. "Uhh…right. So, we have our killer. He doesn't want a lawyer. He's very _insistent_ on that point. But he doesn't want to talk to us either."

Tao, his eyes still on the monitors, spoke up. "Apparently, he hates lawyers." Mike's gaze shifted to her as he continued on. "More than Provenza if you can believe it. Did you change your hair?"

If she gritted her teeth any harder, they would break.

Buzz turned to look at her then, and she gave him a look that very clearly told him that nothing good would come of him commenting on her appearance today.

The door to the Electronics room opened once more and admitted both Detectives Sykes and Flynn.

Sharon turned to face them, watching as Flynn spoke. His eyes remained fixed on the folder in his hand as he closed the door behind him. "So get this. Our psycho here is married." He glanced up and immediately his face grew concerned as he saw his captain. "Are you okay, Sharon? You don't look so good."

She almost screamed. Almost. Before she could reply, Amy's always cheerful voice reached her ears.

"Bad hair day, Captain?" Amy inquired in what she thought was probably a sympathetic tone. The smile on the woman's face, however, tempered any empathy she may have been trying to convey. "I _hate_ that. It's why I always bring something to put my hair up with."

Taylor cleared his throat, refocusing everyone's attention. "Our suspect has agreed to confess, Captain. In fact, he's eager to do so. But he's made it very clear that that is only going to happen if you're in there. He wants to talk to you."

Mentally, Sharon chastised herself for being eager to help. Going into an interview room with that man was not what she had in mind. Especially if he was _eager_ to see her.

"It gets worse," Flynn added, moving to stand beside her so he could show her the folder he'd been looking at. "This is his wife. According to her financials, she's had a great deal of plastic surgery to look like this. She says her husband pressured her into getting all the work done on herself."

Sharon looked at the picture in disbelief. It was almost like looking at a picture of herself. The eyes were a different color; however, the person in the photo could have been her sister. Her twin sister. "What's her name?"

"Linda Daniels," Flynn replied.

Sharon's head shot up.

"Yeah," Flynn continued, "she went to the same dance class you went to."

"She didn't look like that then." Sharon realized as the words came out of her mouth that it wasn't the most intelligent comment she'd ever made. She'd just been told the woman had undergone extensive plastic surgery.

"You don't have to talk him, Sharon," Taylor said softly. "We have DNA evidence. It's a solid case."

"But all the evidence in the world isn't as good as a confession," Sharon continued. "I'll join Provenza and Julio in the interview. Excuse me."

"Captain," Taylor's voice stopped her, "there's something else."

* * *

"Sharon," Evan Daniels said as she walked into the room. He started to stand, but Julio's hand kept him firmly in his seat. "You're as beautiful as I remember."

Sharon didn't reply. Instead, she took a seat next to Provenza. However, a small very vain part of her enjoyed the compliment considering the Bad Hair Day she was having. She'd decided on the walk from Electronics to the interview room that the next person to comment on the state of her hair would regret it.

"I've been waiting a very long time to see you again."

Sharon didn't reply. They didn't need her too. They only needed her presence for this confession.

"Well, that's not entirely true, now is it?" Provenza asked, as he opened a folder to show the suspect a picture.

Sharon didn't need to look at it. Taylor had filled her in already. Evan Daniels had been following her for the last few months. Six months to be exact. Ever since his wife had had a miscarriage.

Evan didn't take his eyes off of her as Provenza continued.

"Now, what do you say you tell us what happened? Save us all some time."

Still, Evan didn't take his eyes off of her, and Sharon held his gaze. Neither spoke. Evan remained focused on her. His eyes open slightly wider than normal in excitement. His breathing was faster than it had been before Sharon entered the room. He sat up straight and leaned towards her. He acted like a starving man who had been presented with a five-course meal he was unable to eat.

"Hey!" Julio slammed his palm against the table causing Evan to jump slightly. It was only then that Evan finally tore his eyes off Sharon for the first time since she entered the room.

Sharon's eyes traveled to Julio as well. As usual, his expression was mostly unreadable. But she'd known him long enough now to know better. She'd seen him work. She'd seen how much he cared about those he worked with. When their eyes met, she knew that he didn't want her in there. That he wanted to shield her from what she was about to hear.

It would do no good to tell him that she didn't _need_ his protection. He'd give it to her anyway.

She shifted her attention back to Evan. He was staring at her again as though trying to memorize everything about her.

"I love you," Evan said quietly. "I've always loved you. But I didn't kill her."

Sanchez scoffed instantly. "Then tell us who did."

"Because the way we see it, Evan," Provenza said, picking up right where Sanchez had left off, "all the evidence points to you." He pulled out of the folder a photo of the bloody footprints that were around the victim's body. "Made with a men's size 10 sneaker." He then pulled out another photo, a sneaker with bloody tread. "This here shows a Men's 10 sneaker our officers found in the trash can outside your home. See that?" Provenza pointed to the tread. "That's the victim's blood on the bottom of your shoe. And if that wasn't enough," the Lieutenant pulled out a piece of paper, pushing it forward "we have your DNA inside the victim. So, let's recap, shall we? We have you at the scene of the crime, as evidenced by the bloody shoes and footprints that match. We have evidence that you sexually assaulted our victim. And we have—"

Sharon caught Evan's slight jerk before he glanced away from her to the detectives.

"I didn't kill her," he repeated.

"I don't believe you." Sanchez stated coldly.

"It was my wife. Linda. She killed her. Them. Not me. I just . . . it wasn't me." He turned back to return his gaze at Sharon. "I couldn't hurt her. I couldn't, Sharon. I couldn't ever hurt you." He gave her a soft smile. "I love you."

* * *

**Friday Evening**

She stared at the Murder Board as her detectives took down the pictures. This case had a twist that they hadn't seen coming. Evan Daniels hadn't killed their victim. Not directly anyway. He'd married his wife and at first had been the perfect husband. Things had changed quickly. Then they'd met Sharon. Linda had seen the opportunity and taken it. She changed her appearance more and more over the years to look just like the woman her husband had become obsessed with. Then she'd started helping him lure girls to their death, but took no part in killing them.

That had gone on for years. Then there had been the girl from fifteen years ago. Evan's obsession about Sharon had waned when he'd met that girl. The girl had found out she was pregnant and intended on leaving her dancing career behind. She told Evan, who she thought was a friend, of her plans. He hadn't taken it well. His wife had done the dirty work that time. Killing the girl in the studio and writing the words on the wall for him while he danced. With the girl dead, he had shifted his focus back to Sharon—and his wife went back to finding victims for her husband.

The same thing had happened with their latest victim, Susan Caine. It had been Evan's wife who killed her and decorated the walls while he raped the woman's corpse and danced in her blood.

Had this sort of thing happened to Sharon during her first few years on the force, before Jack left, she would have been at home in a puddle of tears right now. Sharon didn't miss the girl she used to be. Now, she just felt like she needed a shower. A hot one. The electricity had better be working when she got home.

Home. With Rusty. As relieved as she was, her heart sank a little. They'd have to talk, and she didn't want to tonight. She wanted to go home with her baby boy and maybe watch a movie. Maybe call her other babies. Or at least Ricky. She'd spoken to Emily yesterday and she tried very hard not to "hover" over her children. Maybe she'd call her parents…

The voice in her head—that sounded suspiciously like her mother—told her that she would not be calling anyone until she sat down and had a talk with Rusty. Mentally she sighed.

"Captain," Lieutenant Provenza said as he came to stand beside her. "Sharon, next time you or one of your children" he gestured to Rusty, "attracts a stalker, could you at least make sure he's not psychotic?"

"Or," Flynn added as he came to stand by her other side. "Just stop attracting them."

"Although," Provenza picked up "how you attract them with your hair looking like that I have no idea."

"Hey!" Flynn spoke up with fake indignation. "We all like different things. Nothing's wrong with that. Maybe some guys like women who look like they just stuck their finger in a light socket."

Sharon tried to be angry at them, but instead lowered her head to hide her laugh, although she was sure her shaking shoulders gave it away. She more than appreciated their effort even if it came at the expense of her vanity.

Soon she lifted her head, wearing a straight face. "Lieutenants, the day I need hair care tips from two men who've worn their hair the same since the 80's, I'll be sure to let you know. Then, I'll send both of you to sensitivity training." She smiled at them. "Again."

They turned slightly to stand in front of her, overly exaggerated shock evident in their posture.

"What?" Flynn said. "What'd we say?"

"Captain," Provenza added, "I think you should have your hearing checked out. We were just telling you how beautiful this new hairstyle of yours looks."

* * *

**So, what did you guys think of the conversation between Provenza, Flynn, and Raydor? **


	6. Chapter 6: Veracity

**So, here it is. The last chapter. It's nothing but mothership feels. **

**Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers! **

* * *

**Chapter 6: Veracity**

**Friday Night**

Sharon watched out of the corner of her eye as Rusty cleaned the kitchen after dinner. Not that there was a lot of cleaning to do. When she cooked, she liked to put most of the dishes in the dishwasher as she went along, wiping the counters clean as well so that after dinner all that was left was to put their plates, glasses, and silverware in the dishwasher. Whether Rusty did that now out of habit—she'd taught him early on in their relationship to clean up after himself—or because he wanted to make up for his earlier behavior, she didn't know.

His attitude had turned around completely from that morning, but not in the way she would have liked. True, it was a relief to not hear him yelling or arguing, but now he was completely silent. Other than the occasional shrug, she'd hardly gotten any response from him since they'd left the station. Even when she had asked him what he wanted for dinner, a topic he usually had a very loud opinion on, he'd merely shrugged.

Once the dishwasher was running, Rusty, who was purposefully avoiding her gaze, started down the hall towards his room.

"Rusty," she heard herself say before consciously making the decision to have a conversation with him.

He turned to face her, and if Sharon could pick one word to describe him in that moment it would be "defeated." She stood up from the table and walked into the living room taking a seat in one of the chairs, leaving Rusty to decide between the other chair and the couch. Rusty didn't even roll his eyes when she gave him a small smile and an expectant look that clearly communicated her desire for him to join her.

Rusty picked the end of the couch furthest from her chair.

She wasn't surprised. Sharon watched him pick at the hem of his shirt briefly.

"Honey," she began, catching his attention with her use of the moniker. It wasn't something she used if she was upset with him. "Why did you forge my signature?"

Staring at the blank TV screen, Rusty shrugged.

Sharon waited.

"We had a deal." Rusty's voice was quiet and low. She almost didn't hear him.

Her mind ran through every deal she could remember making with him, but none seemed relevant to the situation. "About what?"

"I turn eighteen in two weeks."

"_Or that he's over his mother enough that he won't just suddenly pull up stakes and vanish because in four months he turns eighteen and I'm afraid you're going to be very surprised."_

Lieutenant Provenza's words echoed in her head, and she barely pushed down the panic those words had caused. This situation was not the same, and Provenza's warning was no longer relevant.

"I know," she said quietly, not understanding the connection between him turning eighteen and his forging her signature.

"We had a deal," Rusty repeated.

She tilted her head in confusion not seeing the connection. "I don't recall making a deal about you turning eighteen. In fact, I think that's going to happen whether we made a deal about it or not."

She'd hoped her bad attempt at humor would at least lighten the mood a bit. Unsurprisingly, it fell flat, failing to make either of them feel better.

"You said you'd give me at least thirty days notice."

Her mind whirled trying to figure out what he was talking about. Thirty days notice? She remembered he wanted that deal. It had almost been one of their first, but…she'd told him instead that she'd always know him. Whether he liked it or not. Was he upset with her for sending him away after Wade Weller nearly killed him? That event had happened almost a month ago, and he seemed to understand at the time. Turning eighteen in two weeks? Was he upset that she hadn't asked him if he wanted to have a party? And what did any of that have to do with him forging her signature on a progress report from school?

"Rusty, I don't understand," she admitted.

Rusty slouched down into the sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. She thought she saw his lip quiver, but his voice was steady when he spoke.

"I didn't realize my birthday was so close. I forgot. And you didn't remind me. Now I only have two weeks before I have to leave, and…"

Sharon's eyes widened, and she sat horrified at his words. Her breath caught in her chest. All her carefully honed skills she'd learned as a police officer left her for a moment, and she became aware of only her swirling thoughts. She tried to grab on to just one coherent thought that wasn't laced with fear.

That had been the last thing she was expecting.

"_Rusty_…" She leaned forward, only just stopping herself from moving to sit next to him and gathering him in arms. "You don't have to leave."

Rusty nodded his head up and down shakily. She could see his bottom lip of quivering now. "I do, Sharon, I have to."

"Why on earth would you think that?"

"Because I'm turning eighteen. And when foster kids turn eighteen, they have to leave foster care."

"Honey, look at me," Sharon commanded gently. When his eyes finally met hers, she spoke softly and slowly, willing him to listen. "It's true that when you turn eighteen you will no longer be a ward of the state. You'll legally be an adult. But that doesn't mean you have to leave _MY_ house. No one can force you to leave except me, and I have no intention of doing that." She paused to give her words time to sink in. "Do you understand, Rusty? This is my house, and I can share it with whomever I like." She paused again before continuing on, carefully choosing her words. "And when the day comes and you _want _to leave, always remember this: I will always welcome you back. Just like Emily and Ricky. You are always welcome in my home."

Rusty turned his head away, but she saw him rub his face with his hand and heard a faint sniffle. She weighed the pros and cons of moving to sit next to him. She doubted he'd respond well.

She waited patiently instead.

He turned back to her a moment later. She could see the puffiness around his eyes from the effort to hold back tears. She almost felt bad for having to continue with their original discussion.

"I'm very…happy that we cleared that up, but, Rusty, why did you forge my signature?"

"I'm sorry, Sharon."

"For what?" she kept her voice quiet.

"I get it now."

She didn't say anything. Instead, she waited for him to continue. She certainly did not "get it" yet.

"I thought if you saw that I failed a test…after everything with Wade Weller and Stroh, you wouldn't let me stay. It's stupid, I know. I just…_Sharon_…"

She didn't give herself time to think about it before moving from the chair to the couch. She didn't sit right next him. She left plenty of space between them, but she faced him, still within arm's reach. She started to move her hand towards him, but stopped its progression halfway. She didn't pull her hand back.

"Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, honey."

He reached slowly for her hand.

She let him take it and squeezed gently once his hand was secure in her own. They sat like that for just a moment before Rusty leaned sideways into her shoulder. She wrapped her free arm him.

"I'm sorry, Rusty. If I had known you were worried about this…" she let her voice trail off and hugged him a little closer.

"It's okay." Rusty then pulled away, a small smile on his lips. "Does that mean I can have my laptop back now?"

* * *

**Well? How did you like this story? Tell me your thoughts on how Sharon will respond to Rusty's request. Any ideas for future stories? **


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